


Cat and Mouse

by Synodic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, interfaction relationship, very vague dub/non-con fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synodic/pseuds/Synodic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor should know better than to run- speedster frames were made to chase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat and Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> Non-beta'd, been sitting in my WIP folder long enough that I got tired of staring at it. Let me know if I missed any tags!

Alkizer III wasn’t a terribly large planet; at _barely_ a class five, its classification as a planet was highly debatable and mostly due to the pair of small moons in its grasp. It circled the sun of the system in a slow 450 day orbit, in lazy rotations of 28 hour days, with mild weather and no true discernible seasons. While there was one mountain range around the south pole, there were no oceans or forests; just miles and miles of soft slopes and gentle hills. The only landmarks available were the ruins of old towns; blown to rubble by the sudden arrival of the maelstrom known as the Cybertronian Civil war, as Alkizer III found itself to be a decent halfway stop between Permia Station and Elchor VI (or Tetra IX and the Parallax Tripex if you were a Decepticon). Once the fighting had died down to a murmur and the main forces had moved on, there was little left but a scattering of outposts from both factions, who were more than happy to abide by the unspoken truce. Getting shipped out there was punishment enough without having to fight for it.

Of course, there was a small percentage of mechs stationed there who hadn’t needed to be placed in the time-out corner of the galaxy, who were quite happy to enjoy the peace and quiet offered. Mechs like Perceptor, who enjoyed long days of solitude to complete his work, uninterrupted by emergencies or “requests” posed by his superiors. He’d been going for a week straight, stopping only to refuel and catch some small amount of recharge, when a queued reminder popped up in his HUD. With a small smile he finished what he was soldering and made sure everything on his small console was saved and encrypted, before turning down the lights of his work room and slipping out. It was easy to avoid others at this hour; most were off-shift and congregating in the rec-room, appreciating the only source of entertainment to be had-- each other. Perceptor slipped out one of the exits, waving to the guard who was only half paying attention. It would be a long walk to reach his destination, but he had the time.

  
  


Perceptor made a personal note to himself to get more night-time combat training into his schedule. The terrain itself was manageable, if a little unsteady, but trying to navigate the ruins of an old town in the dark was not exactly optimal. As a scientist with very little above the bare minimum experience required to enlist, he spent most of his efforts just trying to walk quietly. His footsteps seemed to echo more than usual here, and he hadn’t any idea how far away the Decepticon camp actually was. He certainly didn’t want to ruin the mood for the evening by alerting any scouts to his whereabouts. Though, and he could hardly even admit this to himself, the inherent danger in these excursions were part of what drew him.

He felt relieved when he rounded the corner of a small alley and saw that not only was there less rubble in the main street, but the building he was looking for was in sight. A few steps towards it, however, and the plating on the back of his neck prickled. He could feel eyes on him, hot and uncomfortable needles at his back that tracked his slow and steady walk down the road. Fear curled sharply in his fuel pump; he’d only brought his standard issue pistol, which was _maybe_ good against one Decepticon, but if there were two it would be safe to say he’d be in trouble. Its discharge was also loud, and he would run the risk of summoning more aforementioned scouts. His hand to hand was acceptable...but still, not great odds in his favor. It would be best to lose his stalker in the rubble, or find a place to hide. His rendezvous would have to wait.

Perceptor continued on casually, then darted sharply to the left at the next alley, breaking into a run. Heavy footsteps followed him, though Percy didn’t dare look back to check the distance between them. He ducked through the hollows of a building, zig-zagging through side-streets and alleys as fast as his long legs could carry him. With a maneuver Ironhide himself would applaud, Percy vaulted over a low wall and landed on the other side with grace, then took off for the plasma-bolt riddled shell of a multi-story building. The distance had grown between him and his pursuer, but he could still hear them-- still a bit too close behind for his comfort. In a split-second decision he dove through an empty window, tucked into a roll, and fell straight down into a hole in the floor. His fingers caught the edge of it and he held on just long enough to slow his fall from a drop to a swing. The landing was a bit rough, and the pistons at his ankle and knee joints didn’t thank him for it. At the other end of the room was a basement exit; the door had been blown off, but the steps seemed perfectly stable. Percy took them two at a time, then froze as a heavy weight landed on the floor above him. With only the thin floor between them Perceptor could hear the soft growl of a high-performance engine; he’d have to keep to the rubble or run the risk of being chased down by an alt he could never outmatch, and a speedster that heavy had to be wearing front-liner armor. The pistol nestled in his subspace suddenly seemed all the more inadequate for the situation at hand.

His thoughts quieted as the mech stepped directly over his head; footsteps thumped first to the left, then the right, before doubling back and running out the left side of the building. The mech raced by the basement exit and took a turn into another cross-street. When Percy couldn’t hear them anymore he bolted, flying out of the basement and in the direction he’d come from… at least he hoped it was. He didn’t have time to stop and study his GPS to make certain, but he had good faith in his inner sense of direction. Percy had to turn side-ways to get through a half-broken fence, then darted into the bombed out remains of a general store. He knew he hadn’t been running for all that terribly long, but already his fans were humming and his plating was flared, trying to vent off the excess heat and kick out the dust he’d picked up from the dry ground. His frame type wasn’t suited for excessive movement; you didn’t need a high-performance engine and an upgraded cooling system when you spent all day in a lab, and he was certainly feeling it.

His thoughts about getting modified cut off as the wall just to the left of his head shattered, spraying bits of stone in his face. Perceptor jerked to the side, his spark flipping in his chassi as he launched back into a run. While he was worried about his frame overheating and getting away from his pursuer, even more worrisome was the fact that he could no longer hear any footsteps but his own. Another shot hissed through the air, and he only just avoided taking a hit to the shoulder. He ducked through another building, under and around more walls, through another basement- and another shot had him changing directions. In the back of his frightened processor the analytical part of him wondered when he’d stopped thinking clearly- he was clearly being herded by these shots, but the knowledge of it happening did nothing to stop him from reacting. Percy barely even registered his surroundings anymore-- there was just the instinct to run.

Hot plasma skimmed the plating of his leg, and while it was barely a glancing blow, the sensation of warping metal was not a pleasant one.  Perceptor stumbled with a small cry; sparks of pain raced up and down his leg and reduced him to an ungainly hobble, as each attempt to put his full weight on it only cost him more mobility and time. Not that it mattered overall, as seconds later his body was slammed from behind with the full weight of an armored combatant. Strong arms wrapped around him, tucking his body close as they rolled together, before skidding to a stop on the hard ground. The impact knocked the air out of Perceptor’s vents, and his teeth clicked together hard enough to hurt as his face bounced on the cold floor. After his sensory-net reset and cleared the static from his vision, his sensors flooded with information on his situation… which was face down in the dirt, aft up, and pinned by a boiling hot warrior-class frame. Hot gusts of air billowed from the heavy mech above him, who smelled of gun oil and dirt, and swept over him like a thick blanket. Perceptor gasped as his captor rocked forward, knocking their interface panels together without the slightest bit of subtlety. Oh yes, his captor was very hot indeed.

Heat pooled in Perceptor’s array; both from the contact and, to his shame, the situation. Another grind of plating on plating, and his valve clenched behind his panels. It was all too easy to imagine what was to come; being fragged roughly into the dirt, pinned down and _taken_ , claimed and marked by scratches and bites-

His vents hitched, and with mortification his fans clicked on to a higher setting. Percy had never before wished so strongly that the ground would just swallow him and his traitorous frame into the core of the planet. His face burned with the humiliation, and he squirmed unconsciously.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, so why don'tcha open up for me, little Autobot?”

Percy’s fuel pump flip-flopped at the low growl in his audial. He knew that voice, and all at once the pieces fell into place. He was flooded with relief, and for a long moment struggled to find words as he basked in the turn of events.

“I’m not just going to give in to a Decepticon. That wouldn’t be very Autobot of me, would it?” he managed, licking his lips and tasting the grit he’d picked up from his fall.

Deadlock’s engines growled behind him, and this close the reverberations thrummed through Percy’s whole frame. His valve felt like a molten pool of pure want, already slick with need and getting more so each time the soft mesh clenched on nothing. The urge to rub his thighs together was almost impossible to ignore, and he thought he felt a bead of moisture escape the seams of his panel. The chase had gotten them both revved and it was no surprise, as Deadlock’s frame was made for pursuit.

“I can smell you,” Deadlock gripped Percy’s wrists with one hand, while the other slid down his side, claw-tips clicking over each edge of his plating. “You’re already drippin’ for some ‘Con spike, aren’tcha?”

Corny, maybe, but Perceptor couldn’t deny the effect Deadlock’s drawl had on him. He shivered and bit his lip as modesty panels threatened to snap open.

“You want some persuasion? Is that it?” Warm, rough hands slid over his hip and down into the joint, playing with the sensitive wires. Perceptor gasped, then whined as his panels clicked back before he could stop them. His fully pressurized spike dripped onto the ground, while his valve liked beads of lubricant down his thighs. Deadlock’s laugh was rough, as were the fingers that slipped between his legs and cupped his valve. His hands were cold in comparison to the primed and ready hardware, and Percy arched with a soft mewl into the touch, seeking stimulation. “That sure didn’t take much, now did it?”

Fingers slipped over his exterior node and he bucked, gasping and groaning as Deadlock’s touch circled and flicked relentlessly.

“Please!” he gasped, “Please!”

He tried to pen his legs wider, but found it frustratingly impossible with front-liner Decepticon legs caging him in. Deadlock hummed and spread his fingers, pulling the swollen valve lips apart and up, exposing his throbbing node to chilly air as the hood of it pulled back. Percy squirmed and choked noiselessly on the soft moans swelling up in him, desperate for more while it was already too much.

“What do you want, Autobot? Spell it out for me.”

“Sp-spike, please! Please Deadlock please please _please_ -”

He broke off as Deadlock withdrew his hand and gave his valve a slap, “I only spike good little Autobots. You gonna be good for me?”

Percy nodded, not trusting his own voice. Yes, he’d be good. He’d be _very_ good.

“Keep your arms up there.” Deadlock growled, squeezing Perceptor’s wrists before he let go. He shivered, biting his lip as the heavy frame above him shifted; the sound of Deadlock’s spike pressurizing was barely audible over both of their fans, but it filled him with an unparalleled eagerness. His valve clenched, adding to the mess already between his thighs.

He whimpered when Deadlock pulled away, and it was a struggle not to turn and look when no touch came at first. Then, slowly, thumbs slipped into his valve and pulled it open, exposing the clenching channel to Deadlock’s gaze. Percy trembled, then gasped as Deadlock laid his spike across his hardware, slowly rutting back and forth across the gaping heat that desperately needed to be filled. Perceptor almost started begging again before the angle shifted, and he gasped as the first ring of his valve was spread wide. His face twisted, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut as Deadlock’s spike filled him and his heavier frame covered him once more. Just like all of their other trysts, the Decepticon was not one for waiting once he was seated in Percy’s valve, and one thrust soon became another. Perceptor’s hands scrabbled uselessly in the dirt for some kind of anchor, and his chest slid back and forth in the gritty dirt. Distantly he thought of all the little scratches he was going to have to buff out later, and his laugh turned into a deep moan at the last moment. He was surrounded entirely by Deadlock, and with his lack of leverage there was nothing for him to do but take it. The slick squelch of his valve and the hard knock of plating filled the space with the sound of their coupling, but all Percy could hear was Deadlock’s snarls and pants against his audial. An arm wrapped around his waist and the other around his chest so he could place a hand around his neck; it was not to choke so much as to hold, and Perceptor leaned into it. Deadlock’s thrusts went deeper, harder, stroking nodes and sensors all the way through his valve. He burned, gasping and mewling as charge mounted and crackled over his plating. The heat in his frame pooled in a tight knot, legs twitched and dug into the dirt, and with a sudden clench of his internals the charge released and ripped through his frame.

He’d run out of moans, and instead gasped and choked his way through his overload. Transfluid splattered into the dirt in a puddle, as his valve gushed in rivulets down his thighs to his knees. Deadlock groaned, and that was all the warning Perceptor had before sharp teeth sank into his neck, holding him still for his last few near-violent thrusts. His cord sank as deep as possible into his valve, the hot spurts of transfluid filling what little space left there was before flooding his overflow tank. Perceptor’s charge spiked again, and he was so close, _so close_ to that edge!

“Please,” he rasped, “Please Deadlock I- I’m-”

Deadlock crooned into his audial, “Easy, Percy. I gotcha.”

His warm, clawed hand slithered down Perceptor’s trembling frame, bypassing his sensitive and spent cord to stroke over the lips of his valve, still stretched around his spike. He almost screamed when two fingers finally, _finally_ found his nub. Or maybe he did- he couldn’t tell past the racing pulse of his spark and the tight coil of charge in his valve suddenly cresting and sending him into a second overload.

He trembled and shook as he came back to himself, belatedly realizing that somewhere along the way he’d started drooling into the dirt. Above him, Deadlock panted.

“Slag, you’re so _hot_  when you scream for me.”

The complement left Percy blushing furiously, “Th-thank you?”

Deadlock snorted a short laugh and kissed the bite on his neck before pulling out and rolling off of him into the dirt at his side. Perceptor simply allowed himself to collapse, filth be damned. There were only a few moments reprieve before he felt hands on him again, hauling him atop of Deadlock’s chest. Perceptor allowed himself to be moved, keeping himself pliant; Deadlock was not what he’d ever call the cuddling sort but sometimes, after rougher than usual nights, it would happen. As long as Percy didn’t draw attention to it by either resisting or asking for it, that is.

He smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head against Deadlock’s chest and feeling warm hands slowly work along his sides, up and down. Even with all the dirt, minor injuries, and transfluid slowly leaking out of him, he felt good. He felt safe.

“Do you have to be anywhere?”

Deadlock shrugged, “On patrol duty. Don’t gotta check in till mornin’.”

“Good,” Perceptor’s optics blinked heavily, his exhaustion catching up with him quite suddenly. “I’m going to nap, then I’m either going to suck your spike or ride you. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh, will you now?” Deadlock’s bemused tone was betrayed by the rev of his engine.

“Mmhmm.” he hummed, drifting off under the vague sensation of a hand petting his head.

  
  
  



End file.
